


When We Met

by Coshledak



Series: Soldiers and Puppies [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coshledak/pseuds/Coshledak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just his luck that stubbornness ran in the family and Claire hadn't missed the gene any more than he had.</p><p>"I know what you're saying," he sighed, fumbling with his keys again to press the button that opened his trunk. "But I don't need a dog. I can barely take care of myself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When We Met

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU based on on the dog AU created by [this wonderful artist](http://lanimalu.blogspot.com/search/label/Piers) on blogspot. I take no credit for the art, it's not mine, but I want to be sure everyone knows where it's coming from. Other than that, everything can be blamed on my husband and I. : )
> 
> This fic is pure crack and just for fun.

Chris followed the electric 'beep' of his car to its location, balancing plastic bags in his hand and a phone against his ear as Claire chatted away. He was listening, really, but it was one of those discussions that they'd had before that he didn't really want to keep repeating. It was just his luck that stubbornness ran in the family and Claire hadn't missed the gene any more than he had.

"I know what you're saying," he sighed, fumbling with his keys again to press the button that opened his trunk. "But I don't _need_ a dog. I can barely take care of myself."

The second half of that statement was supposed to be a joke, but it was a poorly time done. He knew that it fit smoothly into Claire's logic, even though he wasn't sure how. She could turn anything to her logic, though, if she tried hard enough, and she was adamant about this. More so since he'd switched jobs and recently had a falling-out with his girlfriend. The break-up wasn't bad, but it always seemed to come to these conversations. Usually it was 'I have someone you'll love,' so when she called this time, he was a more than surprised when the statement came down to 'my friend's dogs just had puppies, you should come look at them! They're adorable!'

And he'd gone, he really had, but all he saw was another responsibility that he didn't need. His job took up enough of his time and he didn't need a pet to take care of on top of that.

"See, but _that's_ the problem," Claire argued as he shut the trunk, moving around to the driver's side door. "You think that you're busier than you are. You just bury yourself in work all the time! You always do this after you get dumped."

He flinched, even if she wasn't there to see it. "Ouch, Claire."

"I'm not going to apologize," she insisted. "What's wrong with getting a dog? Having someone to wait for you at home and keep you company? Maybe it would inspire you to back off the workload a little bit, too, _before_ you run yourself ragged this time."

"I do not run myself ragged," Chris argued back. "Are you sure this isn't just you wanting a dog?"

"Don't change the subject!"

Claire had wanted a puppy since she was a little girl, but after their parents died, that whole notion had gotten a little...complicated. They moved in with their aunt, who had a dog, but it wasn't the same. She loved that dog to pieces, but she wanted her own puppy. Being away at college, living in a dorm, made that pretty much impossible. So, she had to wait a few years. It made sense, though, that she'd try to talk Chris into it for those times when she visited. Then she'd probably try to spoil the dog into loving her more, or something.

But that didn't really explain the timing. Claire usually brought up her puppy-destiny when they were walking around her campus and she spotted someone with one. She didn't make the call--repeatedly--to tell Chris to get one. So maybe her motives weren't entirely selfish, but that didn't sit well either, because it meant that her motives were borne out of some concern for his loneliness. He tried not to think of himself as _lonely_.

He backed out of his parking spot as Claire continued, getting them back on their 'proper target of this conversation,' as she called it. He'd just stopped for some groceries on the way home from work, but it was that point in the year where it was getting darker earlier and earlier. The nauseating, orange street lights were already on, and when he rolled out of the parking garage he had to flip on his windshield wipers. It was only a little more than a drizzle, but the crack of thunder told him it'd probably pick up shortly.

His focus was more on dinner than what Claire was saying though, as he stopped at a four-way intersection. There weren't many cars around, the streets already getting wet and his apartment towards the edge of town. That made it difficult to miss it when, across the intersection, a little ways down the road, he saw something dart across the street. Whatever it was, it wasn't that big--raccoon maybe?--and dodged the outer circle of his headlights as well as the circle of orange cast by the street lamp. He was prepared to ignore it, easing onto the acceleration to carry on home, when a group of three or so teenagers dashed out of the same alley and across the street.

"Great," he groaned. "Claire? I'll have to call you back."

"What? Why--"

"I think a bunch of kids are chasing a raccoon around," he answered. There wasn't even an argument about how he should leave it alone because neither of them worked that way. They never had. So with a quick 'you better,' they hung up mutually and Chris pulled his car over, practically jumping out as he pulled his collar up a bit higher around his neck.

Before he even got to the edge of the alley, he could tell something wasn't quite right with his first assumption. To start with, the sounds were wrong, and that alone was enough to make his stomach drop. There was a light mounted in the alleyway and, as he rounded the corner, he could see the three teenagers spaced in a way that, he could only assumed, had the animal cornered. Chris couldn't see between their legs, even as they were jerking forward in sharp kicks.

Around their laughter he heard a pained sound, caught between a whine, a whimper, and non-existent. The hair along the back of his neck stood, a bright rage warming up his body from the chilled rain.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

No sooner had the punks seen him than they took off, which was roughly the reaction Chris had anticipated. At least in his experience, the type of people who picked on animals like this were usually two cowardly to do anything to people. Let alone an adult with half their body weight on them. He was tempted to run them down, but let it go for the moment, instead moving his way through the gravel, garbage, and broken glass bottles.

He spotted the cream-caramel covered fur with ease against the grungy background, although the dog itself was pretty scraped up, laying curled on its side. It didn't seem to have processed that the threat was gone, though, its exhales high, faint whines of distress the closer Chris moved. But it didn't get up, which led to the question 'why?' It wasn't actually cornered, Chris was moving slowly and giving it plenty of room to take off, but it wasn't taking it.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you," he called, being as careful as possible to avoid any loud sounds. Not exactly easy when navigating around dumpsters and trash cans, but he managed it, even if it put him a little closer to the dog than he meant. The whines got louder, more terrified, and Chris could see, briefly, that it was shaking.

All at once it burst into movement, trying to wiggle itself up onto all four feet. It got there, mostly, but that was when Chris got his answer--it wouldn't put its weight on its front right paw. Still, that didn't stop the little thing from snarling and growling at him, curling back its upper lip on one side in a snarl. Its bark was hardly threatening, but Chris knew the danger of messing with startled animals. He'd been working in law enforcement long enough for that.

Chris dropped down to a squat, avoiding the wet muck under him, as he watched the dog, tried to meet its surprisingly bright eyes. Even now it was still shaking, testing its weight on the bad paw before lifting it again. He kept his voice low and calm, "I promise, I won't hurt you. I'm just trying to help, alright? That paw looks pretty bad..."

He'd never had much of a problem with talking to animals, not since his aunt's dog, but that didn't always mean they listened. Plus, usually when he came across them they weren't so scared. He moved his hands slowly, earning another growl that he could have swore was suspicious, the puppy backing up a few awkward steps.

"Relax, I'm just looking for--ha, here we go." With small triumph he pulled the yellow-and-red package of beef jerky out of his pocket, newly purchased from his recent trip to the grocery store. Tearing open the plastic with his teeth, he ripped off a chunk and tossed it forward. The puppy scrambled back, as though it were a bomb, before losing its footing and landing on its butt. Chris shook his head with a smile. "It's just food, promise."

It eyed Chris and then his offering suspiciously before shakily getting back onto its remaining three paws, hobbling forward with some effort, and sniffing the meat on the ground. Deciding it was clean--or that the puppy itself was too tired and hungry to care--it picked it up, chewed, and swallowed. Then, to Chris' amusement and relief, it looked at him like it were asking for more.

Chris tore off pieces of the first strip and tossed them forward until he had none left, before extracting the second and making the same short work of the packaging that he had of the first. The effort with the second was to get it close enough to eat out of his hand, but that wasn't an easy task. Turned out that bribery with food only worked in the movies, because, when Chris stood up to move closer, it starting yapping and backing up until it lost its footing again, this time planting its butt in a puddle. He chuckled, earned a sharp, disapproving bark, and apologized.

Keeping his distance and dropping back down to a squad, he watched the dog with the last shred of his last stick of jerky between his pointer finger and thumb. "You know, not to brag, but I've got a nice warm apartment."

The puppy continued to glare, suspicious and mistrusting, and Chris wasn't sure if that was trauma or because it was still upset about him laughing at it. He twirled the piece of jerky over his fingers, getting the puppy's attention again.

"You could come to my apartment. I'll look over that paw of yours for you, give you a warm place to sleep and some actual food? Doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

He swore that the look he was getting was questioning his intellect as sarcastically as possible, if dogs could give such a look. It was like it was saying 'do you really think I'm going to fall for that, human?' in big, bright letters. But then it blinked, looking back at, then gently licking, its pained paw, before raising his eyes to Chris again. Chris couldn't really get a reading on the look, but he found himself extending his hand anyway, holding out the last piece of jerky he had on him.

Once again, the puppy shakily got to its wobbly feet and limped forward slowly, testing, watching Chris and the food with alternating looks. Some part of Chris knew that he probably should have gradually pulled his hand back, forced the puppy to walk closer, or maybe tried to move closer to him, but he didn't, he stayed still. Even as his head was telling him that it was going to snag the food and run, and then he could add 'manipulated by a stray dog' to his list of life issues, he still stayed still.

True enough, the puppy did carefully bite the food out of his hand, chew, and swallow. Again he looked at Chris, and Chris could have almost swore that the thing had considered the same running away option that Chris had, but it didn't move.

Until slowly, gradually, it limped closer.


	2. Dammit, I'm a Cop, Not a Vet

Chris shed his jacket and bundled the puppy up in it on their way home, setting him in the passenger seat of his car. At first the poor thing looked like he--Chris had a feeling it was a boy--was trying to struggle out of it, but then Chris realized he was mostly burrowing deeper into the lined leather. He'd been shaking the entire walk to the car, so he angled the vents and cranked up the heat on the drive home. After some fidgeting and shifting, the puppy got settled with his head resting on the bigger folds with a yawn. He didn't seem all that interested in the street lights they passed, and a few times he ducked down to lick at his injured paw.

He was impressed with how content the puppy was to stay in the car as he carried in groceries first, setting them on the table in his kitchen before going back out to scoop the bundle out of his car. On the initial walk from the alley, the little guy seemed determined to try to walk on his own, but when Chris reminded him of the broken glass and his three-out-of-four functional paws, he seemed to settle into the idea of being carried.

Chris fished out some lunch meat from the plastic bags as a reward for good behavior after he set him down on the counter. The puppy wormed his way out of the leather jacket, but not that far, and he was quick to devour the few slices of turkey Chris pulled for him. In the few seconds it took, Chris put a stopper in his sink and started running some warm water. His attention went back to the puppy.

"We're going to get you cleaned up, alright? But first I'm going to take a look at that paw and toss a towel in the dryer," he said. "Just wait here. Don't try to jump down--you'll hurt yourself."

The dog eyed him suspiciously but settled into licking at his paw as Chris left to get his first-aid kit and toss that towel in. When he got back, the puppy was more or less where he'd left him, although he seemed to be trying to figure out a route from the counter to the open container of turkey breast on the couch. The second Chris stepped in he sat down, looking at him.

Chris chuckled. "You're really smart, you know that?"

A bark of a reply, and Chris pulled out another slice of turkey but didn't fork it over just yet. "If I give you this, that means you're going to let me look at that paw and resign yourself to a bath, understood?"

At the mention of the word bath, the pup retreated a few steps, flattening his ears and losing all interest in his reward. Chris sighed.

"I thought you'd feel that way, but we don't want your paw to get infected, right? I'll be careful, promise, and I have yet to break a promise." He raised his eyebrows, offering up the strip of turkey the same way that he had the jerky in the alley. The pup eyed it for a second before slowly limping forward, taking it and backing up again. Chris waited until he finished before reaching forward to flip on the light near the sink. "Alright, let's look at that--"

He paused when the little guy flinched, freezing in his chewing to cringe away from contact he probably assumed was going to hurt. "...paw." He trailed off lamely.

"Take it this wasn't your first time running into some idiot punks in an alley, huh?" He turned his hand over, letting his palm be sniffed and, more gradually, licked, probably for the purpose of chasing the meat flavor on his fingers. He went back to sniffing again a second later before looking away, as though bored, and Chris, with caution, moved his hand up.

At first he just set it on the puppy's head, which earned a slight jerk and another flinch, so he lifted it. Once again a cold, wet nose was pressed to his palm, further investigation clearly required, before he looked away again. Testingly, Chris lowered his hand, this time getting little more than a part-flinch, part tired blink. He started moving his fingers, scratching behind the matted wet fur.

"I'm gonna do my best not to hurt you, but I really need to see that paw," he said, only after the dog tilted his head up, pressing his nose to the underside of Chris' wrist. He was small, smaller than Chris first realized, and way too young to be cornered in alleys by violent teenagers.

It took some coaxing--and more turkey--but he got the puppy to lay on its side so he could lift up its paw. Sure enough, there was a wedge of glass embedded between the pads. The second Chris went at it with the tweezers, the dog was lifting his head and snarling at him but--to Chris' surprise--making no move to bite. It sounded more like a 'that hurts!' more than anything, but he stopped. Setting down the tweezers, he ran his free hand over the wet fur of his side and waited for the dog to relax again before trying once more.

This time he got it out--with some heavy apologizing--and gave him another piece of turkey. He had the brief thought that, at this rate, the dog wasn't going to want to eat dog food, before it occurred to him that it wasn't necessarily his problem.

From there it went to the bath, which Chris was expecting a bigger fight on, but didn't really get. There was some initial yapping barks of objection, but once he realized how warm the water was, he seemed to settle. Chris didn't have any dog-safe soap, for obvious reasons, so he settled for just wetting down his fur and scrubbing the worst of the grime out, using a plastic cup to wet the top of his head and clean off his ears and nose. He took extra care with the paw, washing it as gently as possible, although the pain was still more or less obvious by the occasional whine or growl of protest.

It wasn't until he was about halfway through that he realized he should have grabbed the towel first. Cursing quietly to himself got the puppy's attention quickly enough, seeming slightly more awake with a warm bath, some food, and the glass out of his paw. Chris met his alarmingly bright eyes. "You stay here, okay? I need to go get the towel."

This time the puppy did not listen. Chris heard some struggled splashing just as he was opening the dryer, followed by a yelp of pain that had him jogging the short distance between his laundry room and his kitchen. Sure enough, he walked in just in time to be splashed across the face with droplets of water as he shook himself off. He raised his arms up but still got hit.

"Seriously? What did I tell you?"

The bark he got back was too eager to be much of an apology, but Chris had it pretty easy up until that point. He could only expect so much from a stray puppy he found in an alley.

After giving special attention to his paw--drying it off and then wrapping it with gauze until they could get him to the vet in the morning--Chris wrapped him up in the still warm towel and offered another piece of turkey. The puppy was still contently chewing part of it off of where it had fallen on Chris' shoulder when he started looking up vet's offices on his phone to make an appointment. It was too late for anyone to answer, but he left a message and his number with the answering machine.

A clear and distinct yawn sounded right next to his ear as he set his phone down, garnering a chuckle as he ruffled the towel between the relaxed ears. "Yeah, I hear you."


	3. Chapter 3

"He's an Akita," the vet said. Something in her voice was plainly delighted by the find, but Chris didn't really know dog breeds all that well except for the ones they used at the precinct. He knew the puppy wasn't one of those, obviously, but beyond that he hadn't seen much point in looking into it.

The second she reached hear hand out, though, the puppy was burying his face in Chris' armpit. That tended to be his preferential place of hiding, if the walk from the apartment to the car and the car to the vet's office were anything to go by. A few younger kids lived in his apartment complex and, naturally, upon seeing a puppy they asked to pet him. But they weren't even that close when they asked, and the little guy was already burying his face in obvious disagreement with the idea. Chris apologized, said that he was shy, and offered 'maybe next time' without even remembering that he didn't plan on keeping the puppy to begin with.

The vet waved for him to follow into the back and Chris obliged as she talked, absently reaching up to run his hand from the pup's ears to his tail a few times. "Poor guy. You said he's a stray you found?"

"Yeah, in an alley in town."

"It's no wonder he's shy, then," she said. "He's probably put up with quite a bit of abuse. I can't imagine he's very trusting--I'm surprised he let you take the glass out of his paw."

"That makes two of us," Chris answered, looking down at the puppy as if making a point of something. All he did in reaction was to snort air against Chris' armpit, which seemed a response in and of itself.

When they got to the observation room, Chris set him on the metal table in spite of the puppy's protests, which were to whine and immediately move towards him again. Chris settled a hand on his head, pressing down his ears slightly, before sliding it along his back. Once again he snorted in annoyance, making the vet chuckle.

"Well, he's less than a month old, I'd say maybe two or three weeks. Still too young for most of his vaccines," she said. The second she went to reach for him the puppy's ears pressed back to his head and he shrank away in spite of his bandaged paw. His growl was still sort of weak--Chris had given him something to eat and drink before they came, but he still hadn't gotten dog food--but enough to be noticeable.

"Hey!" Chris picked him up, holding the puppy in front of his face and meeting a look that immediately became guilty. "She's trying to help, alright? There's only so much I can do on my own. And the sooner she looks you over, the sooner we can go home."

The puppy snorted, squirming in Chris' hands enough to lean forward and lick his nose. He didn't really know if that was agreement, but his tail was wagging and when Chris set him back down he stayed still.

The vet ran her hands over him, checking his ears, eyes, nose, ribs, and his heartbeat. The puppy endured all of it quietly, except when she went to unwrap his paw. His ears laid back again, displeased, but he kept down the growling this time, for which Chris was thankful. All the while she talked to him, but Chris wasn't sure if it was helping as much as the fact that he was standing there. The puppy kept looking over at him, as if checking that he was still there even though Chris hadn't done more than shifted his weight.

"Oh, that is pretty nasty, isn't it?" She tsked, gently looking over the wound. "We'll need to keep that bandaged and put you on some antibiotics. Has he been okay about the bandages?"

"He bites at them sometimes," Chris answered. "But he usually stops when I tell him to and if I keep an eye on him."

"That's good," she answered, running her hand over his back. "You're a well behaved guy, aren't you?"

The puppy gave an approving bark, as if knowing that he was being complimented. Or maybe because he was tired of someone touching him and knew that he was going to get to go home soon because he'd done well.

She finished her examination, wrapped the paw back up, and stepped back to get the antibiotics for the puppy, talking from the door in the back and explaining how to administer them. Chris was listening, although slightly more distracted with the puppy headbutting against his stomach gently. He shook his head, burying his nose against Chris' stomach and snorting, as if trying to get underneath his shirt.

"So, you're keeping him?"

The question caught Chris off guard, his hands more occupied teasing the puppy and messing with his ears, causing the puppy to playfully bite at his hands. It wasn't really working that well, but Chris didn't think that he was exactly trying, either.

"Uh, no? I mean..." He looked down at the puppy he was still messing with, the pup sitting on his back legs and batting at one of Chris' hands to try to get it closer to his mouth. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Oh, I was just thinking...since you said that you'd be taking him home," she said, peering around the door with a slightly raised brow.

Chris blinked, the puppy finally having caught his hand and was now looking at him with surprisingly bright eyes. Chris couldn't totally figure out his face, what was in his eyes, but he looked...content. Whether that was content with having caught Chris' hand or something else, well, Chris wasn't a puppy mind reader. But he could guess. He just wasn't sure that he wanted to, because he was pretty sure where that was going to lead.

"What's his name?"

It took Chris a second to look up. "What? I...I haven't--"

"Mr. Redfield," the voice was frank, the kind of tone Chris got from his sister when she knew he was thinking about something and he was pretending not to. Basically it was the type of voice that said 'busted' but used his name instead of the word. Chris met her eyes. "What's his name?"

Chris looked down at the puppy again, wiggling his fingers slightly before pulling them out of his grip to rub behind his ears, earning another tail wag. "Piers."


End file.
